


Said the Warrior to the Thief

by cooperj3600a



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Armor, Coping, Cultured!Fenris, F/M, Not really cannon compliant, Relationship Discussions, There's a lot of armor in this, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooperj3600a/pseuds/cooperj3600a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke is honored by the city after defeating the Arishok, her hopelessness at being nobility leads Fenris to educate her on the topic. As a result, she learns more than she expected about her companion and his history in Tevinter. She is surprised to learn that his training extended well beyond the battlefield. Meanwhile Fenris uses Hawke as a proxy for his discovery of Kirkwall society. As he attempts to teach her how to dress properly, behave properly and to play the social games of nobels, he also begins to learn more about himself and his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pomp and Circumstance

“Andraste's tits,” Hawke swore quietly, reaching awkwardly for the leather strap meant to secure the guard brace to the pualdron on her shoulder. She stood in the middle of her bedroom, plate armor in a disarray, buckles half-done and boots somewhere under the bed. There was a snort from behind her. Fenris lay draped across her sheets in only his small clothes, hurriedly trying to school his expression away from amusement. Hawke glared at him, but there was no true heat behind her eyes, “Plate armor is awful. Not that you'd understand, Mr. Breast-plate-and-leggings.”

Fenris levied his chest off the bed, kneeling up to give her a disdainful look, “You're a disgrace, Hawke. What kind of warrior can't equip her own armor?”

“Brave talk for the man still in his small clothes. Besides, this isn't my armor. It's some ceremonial nightmare Meredith insisted I wear for this statue unveiling. I try to wear mail I can actually fight in, not a hundred Qunari blades shaped into plate.”

“You're exaggerating again,” Fenris slipped out of bed, lithe body dropping silently on the balls of his feet, “I've certainly seen heavier armor.”

“Likely in Tevinter, where it's held up by blood magic and oiled with-”

“The blood and tears of slaves, yes.” Fenris moved closer, almost unsure, “You should allow me to help you with that.”

Hawke looked incredulous, “Is there some similarity between plate armor and leggings I'm not aware of?”

“Armor like this is almost always applied by a squire or a servant. The reason you can't reach the straps or attach the plates correctly is because you're not supposed to be able to. It's not plate meant for simple mercenaries.”

Hawke deflated, “Do you really know how to put in on? I honestly could use the help.”

“I noticed,” Fenris reached for the straps to secure the molded breastplate to Hawke's chest and was suddenly gripped by a wave of unexpected anxiety. He had done this sort of thing before, years ago. It had been as unpleasant as anything that had happened to him before he came to Kirkwall. He scolded himself for flinching- for thinking even for a second that assisting Hawke was anything at all like serving Danarius. He reached for the straps again, but couldn't bring himself to touch them.

“Fenris?” Hawke sounded concerned, “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I'm fine Hawke. I'm just- going to dress first.”

“Sure, whatever you need.”

“Thank you.”

“Take your time. I could probably do it myself if you-”

“No,” Fenris said firmly, “I want to. Let me.” He pulled on breeches and a shirt, both of them Hawke's. He had to cinch them around the waist so they wouldn't slump down his slim frame. He felt better fully clothed, protected at least somewhat from potential wandering hands and eyes. He only wished he could convince his body that the extra protection was as unnecessary as his mind believed. He didn't understand why he was having such a strong reaction to something so... innocuous. After all, Danarius had hardly ever worn armor. They had only outfitted him like this during their brief venture into Qunari-controlled Scheron. Fenris hadn't even really minded that particular act of service. It was something he had done methodically and without thought. It was something he was almost never punished for doing sloppily or slowly. Maybe that was why it bothered him now. That state of thoughtless blank obedience, of whole and singular focus on one task was something he had only ever achieved as a slave. Since he'd escaped there was always a part of him looking over his shoulder for slavers, the law, or even Danarius himself. Now, in the world of free men, there was always a part of him separate from his task.

Fenris looked down at his hands; they were already expertly lacing Hawke into her armor. He tried to be surprised at himself, but he knew how hard his old habits clung to life. He saw laces, and his hands laced them as deftly as they ever had. Hawke's armor went on easily; it was lighter than Danarius' had ever been. Fenris methodically checked the joints and junctures on her arms and chest, and adjusted the uneven hang of mail. Cuirass, Spaulder, Rerebrace, Guardbrace, Pauldron, Culet. The names of each piece and how to properly check and evaluate them rose unbidden to his mind. He grabbed Hawke's bracers from off the bed. Hawke reached out to take them, Fenris batted her hand away, “I'm doing it, Hawke. Stop it.”

“As you say.”

Fenris did up the bracers, but he left the gauntlets for Hawke to do later. Next was the hard part. He felt anxiety flare again. He could do this, he was sure of it. Fenris sank to his knees and immediately Hawke's hands were under his arms hoisting him back up.

“You're not doing that, Fenris.” Hawke said, her voice forceful and her eyes concerned.

Fenris yanked himself out of Hawke's grasp, scowling at her. “I'll do as I like, Hawke. You of all people know I have no master.”

“Yet you insist on treating me like I am one.” Hawke looked angry now, hands clenching, “If you're trying to work through something, you have to tell me, you can't just go to your-”

“I'm not _working through_ anything, Hawke, don't coddle me. You require this, and I am gladly giving it to you. Don't make it out to be something it's not.”

“I'd believe you better if you'd look at me when you said that.”

“ _Venhedis_ , Hawke! Listen to me you-” Fenris took a breath. There was no real reason to be angry at Hawke. The half-dressed human hadn't really done anything to him, after all. She was just... concerned. Unreasonably so.

“If you say you're fine, Fenris, I trust that you're fine, but I can handle the leg braces and the boots.”

Fenris leveled a look so disdainful that Hawke briefly reconsidered her resistance, “Try it then. If you're so sure, _Serah_ , ” he sneered, stepping back to watch.

Hawke squared her shoulders as much as they could be squared against the heavy plated shoulders and cuirass. Then she bent at the waist as far as she could, reaching for her grieves. The tips of her fingers remained a solid foot from their destination. “Shit,” she muttered, attempting to crouch, hindered by her heavy armor, “To the void with this outfit and to the void with this maker-forsaken city and its ceremonies.”

Fenris rolled his eyes at her, and despite the noise of protest from Hawke, sank to his knees to equip armor to her legs. He worked quickly, acutely aware that Hawke was analyzing him, looking closely for signs of weakness or stress. He had half a mind to curse her out for it, to at least scold her in some small way for treating him like he was made of Orlesian china. But it would do no good to be angry with Hawke, she was really only trying to help.

There was no making short work of the complex greaves, no matter how practiced he was. He knelt for several long minutes simply working at them until the fit was perfect, finally suitable for a formal occasion. He reached for her boots next, and caught the sight of his face in the gleam of metal plate. It was not the face he expected. His hair was not tied back from his forehead to show off the extent of the lyrium which marred his skin, instead his bangs were cut to cover and conceal it as best he could. His eyes, which he expected to to be avoident and fearful, met those of his reflection steadily. He barely recognized this Fenris. He had feared that the reflection in the greaves would show him the same slave who had preformed this task back in Scheron or Minrathos. This was no slave. He smiled at his reflection for a moment, drawing Hawke's attention. She treaded her fingers through his hair so she could tilt his head to look at his face, “What are you smiling about?”

Fenris swatted her hand away, partly out of annoyance, and partly because he found the feeling of a hand in his hair while he knelt more distressing than anything else they'd been doing, “I'm liking the way this armor looks on you, that's all.” Hawke raised a skeptical eyebrow, but let the lie slide. Fenris got her boots on quickly, covering them with a silverite sabaton. and then allowed himself to be hoisted by the shirt onto his feet and into a kiss.

“Thank you,” She sighed into his mouth, “I really appreciate it, Fenris.”

Fenris huffed a laugh at how insignificant the whole thing was. It was only armor, and he was only helping, “You're exaggerating the favor. Besides, you're not even finished yet.”

Hawke groaned, tossing her head back, “You _can't_ be serious. It's harder to put this kit on than it is to fight in it. What else could there possibly be?”

Fenris couldn't believe she didn't know. Hawke was going to be a miserable nobelwoman if she didn't start paying attention. At the very least he might have competition for the worst neighbor in Hightown. “I'm afraid I'm serious, Hawke. You've got to at least put colored flags in the joints by your shoulders. It's the convention in Kirkwall, and it's polite to follow it. You also have to wear your crest somewhere. Perhaps a cape, if you've got one.”

Hawke grunted, annoyed, “I've got the Amell family crest flags in the wardrobe, those will work. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

Fenris resisted the urge to grab her by the immaculate armor and shake her, “Hawke, that is the worst thing you could possibly wear.”

“What? Why?”

“ _Fasta Vass,_ Hawke! They're about ten years out of fashion, they're too faded to be recognizable house colors, Oh! And let us not forget that you are a _Hawke_ , not an Amell. You bought this estate with your own money. You did not restore the family name, as much as your mother vainly hoped. You made your own name. You'll be a laughing stock if you show up in that.”'

“You're exaggerating.”

“When have I ever exaggerated?”

Hawke looked for all the world like her mabari had just died, she slumped, looking exhausted, “I'm not cut out for the nobel life, Fenris. This makes no sense to me whatsoever.”

“You can avoid most ceremony if you wish. In fact, as new blood, it will likely be expected of you, at least for a time. The only time you'll have to get dressed up like this is when you go do something foolish and get a statue dedicated to you.”

Hawke's returning smile was amused, “I'll have to stop heroically coming to the rescue, won't I?”

“No, just stop rescuing the whole city. Individuals don't typically have the funds to build statues or throw lavish parties in your honor. If they did. Varric would have commissioned both ages ago.”

Hawke tossed back her head and laughed.“You always know how to cheer me up,” she paused, “But seriously, don't even mention that to Varric.”

He nodded solemnly, “Varric would commission you in a qunari helm and apostate's robes, just to stir up trouble.”

“And even that outfit would be better than wearing the crest of my mother's house?”

“Undoubtably. At least you'd be making a statement. Do you have any spare cloth? Preferably in red. You can't wear blue or green, it's too close to the colors of house Amell. Yellow flags are typically worn by the De Laucet's men, and it would be unwise to associate your house with theirs so early. Orange is the city guard, of course, so that's out.”

“How in Andraste's name do you know all this?”

“The same way I know the names of good wines, major nobles, and the correct cut of formal robes. I pay attention,” Fenris didn't quite meet her eyes, “Besides, you still haven't answered my question. red cloth?”

Hawke paused for a moment, thinking. She wandered her way over to the bed and tore a red sheet into strips, “Will these work?”

Fenris laughed, “How very Ferelden. Yes, this will work. Do you know where your seal for letters is? Of course you do. Grab it, dip it in ink and bring it back.”

“In ink? That won't ruin it right?”

“We'll wash it after,” Fenris folded the torn sheet into the cloth triangles fashionable in Kirkwall. Hawke left to fetch her seal. Fenris hopped onto the bed and folded his legs under his body to wait for her. He narrowed his eyes at the small window on the adjacent wall. What a colossal safety risk to sleep in a place where only plane of glass separated Hawke from a city full of apostates, slavers and zealots. The whole setup was foolish. He was the greater fool, though, remaining squatting in his former master's mansion, simply waiting for Danarius to come back and claim him. Fenris sighed, and rubbed the markings on his forehead. They were both idiots. Hawke was reckless with her life, he was reckless with his freedom. Maybe he shouldn't dwell on it. After all, his efforts to convince Hawke to move into the windowless room previously occupied by her mother had fallen on deaf ears. Hawke refused to so much as change a single thing about the room. She barely ever opened the door. His mind wandered back to what Hawke had said about killing two birds with one stone. Perhaps it would be possible to make sure no one killed Hawke in her sleep and to protect himself from discovery. He could just... stay over more often? His excursions into her home were few and far between, and they often didn't acknowledge them outside her room. Certainly he could increase the time he spent there without too much discomfort.That could work. He spent the remaining time waiting for Hawke to return alternating between convincing himself that his actions were borne out of a genuine concern for her safety, not a desire to spend more time in her bed and admonishing himself for being a disgusting sap. What in the void was taking Hawke so long, anyway?

He wondered if he was expected to go to this statue dedication as well. It was likely. Although he and the champion weren't technically together, his absence would be noted. He had caught a peek of the monstrosity before it had been erected. It didn't do her justice. The monument was masculine and intense, standing strong and powerful, sword raised. It was an ugly thing, but still better than most Kirkwall art. Although he had been trained to recognize its beauty and be discerning about its quality, Fenris had a certain amount of disdain for all the art from the Tevene tradition. Kirkwall art had a similar feel, but he doubted even a elven or qunari craftsman could really capture her essence. She was better in motion, anyway. He took the spare moment to equip his armor, torn as usual between relishing the freedom to be sloppy with his appearance and a genuine preference for looking nice and taking care of his equipment. His breastplate could honestly use some polish.

He could hear Hawke clanking around in her massive armor just outside the door, fumbling with the knob. He snorted a laugh and let her in.

“This will work, right?”

“It'll work fine. Just don't touch anything. I'll take care of it.” He took the seal from Hawke and stamped each of the fabric with the Hawke crest until it formed a repeating pattern, “Let it dry before you touch it, Hawke. I'll not have you ruining the whole thing.”

Hawke leaned back against her desk, nonchalant and calm, “Any other advice for me _Ser_?”

“Apart from dropping the Ferelden titles? Nothing jumps to mind. It's all fairly self explanatory, and frankly I'm not sure how well Tevinter manners would translate to Kirkwall.”

“Likely better than no manners at all.”

“True.”

“How did you learn all of this anyway? I didn't think these would be typical skills for-” she paused.

“For a bodyguard? Or for a slave?”

“Either really. From the little I know of Tevinter it seems strange that you would be educated in this sort of thing. It seems they prefer to foster ignorance as often as possible.”

“You really do know little of Tevinter. They value education, art and music. It's a vainer, of course. Their real interests lie in bloodshed and power. Nevertheless, an uneducated mage is a useless mage, and many believe the same is true for the rest of us as well.”

“Yet you never learned to read.”

“I'm learning now, aren't I? Besides, there were certain avenues which were closed to me. Danarius may have found it amusing or useful to teach me certain tales and to allow me to learn specific talents, but reading would have allowed me to choose those tales and talents for myself. A much more dangerous endeavor, and if I understand correctly, also highly illegal,” He checked to see if the flags had dried, no luck yet, “I'm surprised you hadn't guessed all of this already. I speak four languages, Hawke, you can't possibly think that was just a skill I picked up in my travels.”

Hawke's silence betrayed her embarrassment. Fenris couldn't help but laugh a little, “You have a lot of faith in my ability to just pick these things up. Although I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. I haven't told you much of my time in Tevinter, and you don't know enough of the place to realize how... unusual some of my skills are.”

“It's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I'm not the type to push.”

“Hawke, you are exactly the type to push. Truly, I don't mind it. If I wish to stop, I simply will.”

Hawke moved as if to sit, but the armor prevented her from doing so, “I suppose I'll just stand and listen, then.”

“Of course. Be warned, there's much of my own story I only know from second hand accounts, and there are certainly tales I don't wish to share. At least, not yet. Perhaps another time when the threat of returning is only a memory,” He slumped relaxed against one of the pillars on her bed, “Maybe not even then.”

“Should I get some wine?”

“Hah. You know me well, but no. I feel this is a tale best told sober,” He examined the bottom of one of his feet, a nervous habit, “Besides, it wouldn't be proper for you to show up at your own statue dedication already three sheets to the wind.”

“More etiquette advice?And here I thought I was going to hear all your dirty secrets. I suppose I can handle the disappointment,” Hawke quipped.

“Oh, please. If I asked you too, you'd drop the matter in a heartbeat and we both know it.” Fenris paused for a second to gather his thoughts, attempting to decide which information to conceal, “I was told- although I have no means of verifying this- that I was born into Danarius' service. Not in the main household in Minrathos, but a smaller second home in Scheron. My training was apparently in gardening if you can imagine that. I was as much the county bumpkin as you are now. No concept of formal manners whatsoever. Scheron lies well outside proper Tevinter territory, and since the island is at near constant war, even Danarius kept his distance. He only came to evaluate the estate once every five years or so. I think he's since sold the place and everyone in it. If it even really existed in the first place. But that's a time I know little of. It doesn't do me any good to dwell on it, especially since it's likely all lies.”

Fenris pushed a hand through his snowy white hair, breathing out, exasperated, “Anyway. I don't know much from before the lyrium, only flashes really. I know Danarius took a liking to me, had me trained to fight among other things. I can be fairly certain he had me transported out of Scheron and onto the main estate fairly early on. I think there may have been others he had shown an interest in. I recall vaguely having the opportunity to test my skills against other slaves my own age, although that may be just imaginings. It's hard to tell. Eventually Danarius must have decided I was the best he had, or at least the one he thought was most likely to survive the ritual with the lyrium. I remember the ritual, but I won't discuss it.”

Hawke nodded her assent. Fenris took the now-dry flags from the table and set to securing them properly to Hawke's armor, “After that, I couldn't remember much. Danarius was... disappointed. I had been a costly investment and it was all useless if I couldn't remember the skills he had spared no expense to teach me. Since I couldn't remember much of my training, I was set to work re-learning it. In the meantime, I was still worth a great deal. I've told you before that Danarius considers me valuable. As far as I know I'm the only lyrium warrior since Arlathan fell centuries ago. The ability to create the lyrium brands -and to make them on someone who survived- It made Danarius quite popular. As his greatest accomplishment, I was dragged to every social occasion in Minrathos. Hence, the etiquette lessons. Then the language lessons, then history, art, dancing- many of the other Magistars said he gave me too much. I think he just wanted to rub his wealth in their faces. He wanted to show that he was powerful enough that even one of his slaves could be taught by tutors on par with one of their apprentices. My education was meant to demoralize them, not to empower me. I suspect Hadriana's hatred of me may have stemmed from that as well. She was neither a particularly gifted student or an impressive mage. Danarius made no secret of it. He would often disparage her at social gatherings while exulting me. He would say, 'My apprentice might be talentless, but at least my pet is worthy of me.'” Fenris shuddered, securing the last of Hawke's armor, “He may as well have outright ordered her to hate me. I think I'm finished speaking of this for now. After all, you have an appointment to make.”

Hawke's face seemed lost for a moment before she regained her composure, “Oh yes, of course, the exalted unveiling of my glorious visage. Do you think they'll notice if I don't attend?”

Fenris rolled his olive green eyes up to the ceiling and back, “After all the time I spent getting you into that ridiculous thing, all that matters is that _I_ will notice if you're not there.”

“Fair point. Are you attending?”

“I would never miss a chance to see you make a fool of yourself, Hawke. It happens so seldom.” 

“Did you learn flattery in Tevinter too?”

He huffed a laugh, “You'd be surprised. Flattery is the currency of the realm in places like Orlais.”

“I've met Orlesians. I'm not surprised at all,” Hawke held out a hand, as if to tug Fenris along with her, “C'mon, Fen. We'll walk together.”

Fenris hesitated, not taking her hand, “I don't know if that would be wise. I don't believe we should spend so much time together. After all you are nobility now and-”

“If those are really your reasons, they're stupid ones.”

“I confess they are not.” 

“Then tell me why you don't want this. You're cold to me for years, fall into my bed, then fall back out of it again? You can see how I might be getting a mixed message.”

Fenris was silent, he fought the urge to look down at his feet in shame. Hawke shook her head, “The last time we did this you said it was too much, that you were... overwhelmed. Is that still true? I'll back off if that's what you need, Fenris, but if you're doing this out of some misguided attempt to protect me- just don't.”

Fenris retrieved his broadsword from where it was propped against the wall, securing it to his back, “I'm sorry. I fear I'm not being fair to you. These are my problems. I should not make them yours.”

“I could help. I would be happy to.”

“You shouldn't have to. These are my problems. Besides, I don't want you to...” he trailed off, the tips of his ears going pink with embarrassment, “There are things I don't wish to share. Things I'd rather you not know.”

Hawke frowned, “I suppose I can accept that, but hear me when I say this: until you're ready to tell me what's going on there won't be any more of this,” She made a vague sort of gesture in the space between them, “I can't let this continue if there's a chance I might hurt you by accident.”

“That seems... more than fair,” Fenris moved his hand to cover the Amell crest he still wore at his hip, and prayed to Andraste that Hawke would continue to mistake the cloth around his wrist for a simple fashion statement, “I'll see you at the dedication.”

Hawke watched him leave, a sinking feeling in her stomach, “Maker go with you, Fenris.”

 

 

 


	2. All the Right Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris goes alone to the ceremony. He hears some rumors, and accidentally meets up with some friends. He gets some heartfelt advice from an unexpected source. Hawke continues to be a bit of a mess.

 

Fenris did attend the ceremony. He surprised himself, really. It seemed typical for him to skip things which made him uncomfortable, and this was certainly an uncomfortable situation. The ability to surprise himself was one of the more interesting parts of living like a free man. He didn't take his place alongside Hawke. That was a bit too bold for his tastes. Instead he milled about the brightly colored throng of spectators, and absorbed gossip. He had always enjoyed this sort of thing, even as a slave. He had never been able to slip beneath notice. The lyrium brands alone would make him a terrible spy. However, what he lacked in subtly he made up for in insignificance. Once the shock of his appearance had worn off, most people pointedly did not pay attention to him. He couldn't be sure if he looked frightening or just strange. Either way it had served him well, allowing him to gain information about his surroundings simply by holding still and remaining quiet. Although most of his skills as a slave had not translated well to life on a run, the ability to make himself small, insignificant and beneath notice remained in his repertoire. It was as sturdy and useful as it had always been.

The mutterings in the crowd at the ceremony were not all about Hawke. There was plenty of anger against Templars, Mages, Meredith, the Qunari- everyone. He had feared this sort of unrest was building. Anyone who spent more than a few minutes listening to Kirkwall's common folk knew that the city was nearing its breaking point. Fenris was no spy, but he was capable of reading the room. The atmosphere in Kirkwall was tense. The feeling set his ears low and flat against his head., and he wasn't the only one. A city elf in muted colors wore a similar expression, anxiety and anger were clear on his face. The elf muttered something to his companion which caught Fenris' attention, “Pah. The Qunari invasion, what a crock. I'm telling you, it was the Knight-Commander. She must've goaded them. Trying to make the Templars look the hero, I bet. And now she's trying to lay claim to the Champion too. It's all a plot. Trying to weasel her way into the Viscount's office, I tell you. Mark my words.”

“Lay claim to the Champion?” the elf's companion scoffed, “Cryvel, you right fool. Without Meredith there is no Champion. She's the one who makes the ranks. If you're so keen on running off and inventing stories, I hear the Dalish are still accepting converts. You can frolic through the forest and never taste a hot meal or a pretty girl ever again.”

With an uproarious laugh from Cryvel, the conversation devolved into jabs against the Dalish, and against each other's heritage. Fenris lost interest. The conversation had set off a niggling worry in his gut. Gossip like this was never good, no matter how nonsensical. He should inform Hawke- or not. After all, Hawke had made it clear that her business was not always his business. Perhaps he should remain aloof until her displeasure with him had faded. He would pass the information along to Varric. After all, the dwarf's ability to deal with these sorts of things had always exceeded Hawke's anyhow. He told himself that he was not avoiding Hawke, then he repeated it until he could almost believe it. He peered over the crowd to observe the statue. It was as ugly as he'd remembered. He often wondered why Kirkwall didn't distance itself more from it's past as a Tevinter occupied slave pit. It still outfitted itself in art modeled in the Tevinter style, and the new editions weren't stylistically much different from the old slave statues left weeping in the gallows. He glared at the image of Hawke erected in Hightown. Art had been of particular interest to his former master, so Ferris could competently trace the history of influences which had led to this particular monstrosity. The artist had been trained in Orlais, not Kirkwall. He could see the restraint in the design; namely the places where the artist had added intricate but unnecessary detail with great skill and the places where edges should be glassy and smooth in the Tevene tradition. Kirkwall art tended to be a rougher version of the Tevene, the materials tended to retain their natural attributes rather than be smoothed to an unnatural finish. The artist had not quite managed the look of it, leaving it a rough hodge-podge of styles. He suspected the craftsman had not been a mage. The technique used to buff the edges and round stone to make it look like metal or skin was closely guarded by Tevinter, but most competent mages could do a passable imitation. This imitation was not passable. 

He turned his face away, not wanting to think on it any longer when he heard a high voice shouting his name, “Fenris! Oh! Fenris, I'm over here!” A thin wrist waved a spindly hand at him from a distance away in the crowd. He knew exactly who was calling. Perhaps there was still time to pretend he hadn't heard her. But the bloodmage was already pushing through the crowd, small frame jostled by eager spectators. Fenris tried not to be outright rude to the mage, but her frivolity and lack of responsibility unnerved him. To make it worse, the powerful magic rolling off of her sometimes reached out to probe at the lyrium under his skin. He knew she didn't mean it, and the action was only one of curiosity, not malice, but it betrayed a lack of control he found profoundly disturbing. In addition, sometimes it simply hurt. Trailing behind her, to Fenris' great encouragement, was Varric.

“Hold up, Daisy! Not all of us bound along like you elves.”

“I'm so sorry, Varric! I didn't mean to be careless. It's just so exciting, isn't it? Hawke getting this dedication- I wonder what the ceremony will be like? Certainly different than the ceremonies of my clan. Aren't you excited, Fenris?” She turned her wide eyes on his face, expectantly awaiting an answer.

“Ah-” Fenris wasn't sure how to respond.

“I'm sure Broody is very excited, Daisy. We're all very proud of Hawke.”

“Ah, yes, proud, of course.”

Merrill looked briefly confused, “Is Hawke not with you, then? I expected her to be here with you. The way you've been looking at her and I thought- well-  _you know_ .”

The other elf scowled, “I confess I do  _not_ know, Witch.”

“Oh! I didn't understand it at first either, but Isabella explained it to me. When you look at Hawke with those sad eyes, it means you want to- Well, Isabella calls it sex- but the Dalish have a different word for it. I think.”

Varric's shoulders shook silently. Fenris fixed him with a glare, “I respect her. Hawke is an impressive woman. That is all.”

Varric seized the opportunity, “She has an impressive ass, that's for sure.”

“You're the one being an impressive ass,” Fenris muttered. Merrill giggled.

“I'm known for it, really,” Varric puffed his chest, looking boastful.

“Indeed. Varric? May I have a word?”

“Whatever you need, Broody. Hey, Daisy, You want to go try to find us a spot up front? It's going to be hard to see otherwise.”

Merrill was already disappearing into the crowd muttering, “I heard one of the merchants here has a cat who just had kittens. Do you think Anders would want one? They are awfully cute...”

“Daisy? Hey, did you hear me? Did you bring that ball of twine?” Varric sighed, exasperated, “She's hopeless.”

“I honestly don't know why you bother,” Fenris glared at the bloodmage's back as it vanished into a gaggle of bickering dwarven merchants.

“She's a sweet kid. It's not her fault she's got fluff for brains. Besides, keeping her from getting killed has cost me a few sovereigns, at this point I'm protecting an investment.You had something to tell me, Broody?”

Fenris put the topic of the bloodmage aside for a moment, “Yes. I've been overhearing... rumors. They haven't been sitting well with me. I think that there are some misconceptions about Hawke and-”

“Don't trouble your pretty head about it, Broody. Daisy sees all sorts of cute fluffy emotions where there are none. It's a part of her charm. I'd say nobody really believes that you and Hawke are making the beast with two backs in private.  _Well,_ I  _would_ say that except that a little bird told me you visited her last night and didn't leave till morning. Care to explain that little rumor?”

“I fail to see how that's relevant. I have a concern about Hawke's safety, while the rest of you seem intent to speculate on her sex life. Did you have this same conversation with Isabella when she and Hawke went to bed together? Or is it only me you're concerned about?”

“Don't take it personal, I'm just checking up to make sure I've got the latest gossip. Kirkwall's the kind of city where you can't afford to fall behind on these things. Also, truth be told, I'm a bit of a busybody. But, you clearly don't want to discuss your moonlit excursions with our intrepid leader. A shame, really. It means I'll just have to make something up.”

“Whatever there was between Hawke and myself, it's over now. And it was never your business in the first place.”

“When your business is stories, everything's your business. Point taken, though. What's got your underclothes in a twist?”

Fenris hesitated, “There's some concerning rumors making their way among the crowd here. There's no truth to them, of course, but when things like this spread in a place like Kirkwall there's often panic.”

“I have to admit you're spot on. Which rumors caught those ears, Broody?”

“I've been heard mutterings that Hawke is simply a pawn of Meredith's. Worse, there's a conspiracy theory about that the Qunari invasion was a false flag. Neither of those sentiments will be good for her reputation. I worry that she'll lose her influence before it's even begun. Her neutrality is one of her greatest assets, though she might not yet know it.”

“I think you're right, Broody. Got any clever ideas?”

“I do, in fact. Hawke met with First Enchanter Orsino during the Qunari invasion. I suspect, with the tightening of the restrictions on mages, Orsino will want to meet again. As much as I'd like to keep Hawke as far away from those mages as possible... I think, politically, it would be a good move. Particularly considering the fact that Bethany's presence at the Circle Tower makes the visit less than outwardly supportive of the mages. If Hawke continues to speak to both sides indiscriminately, well- she's under more scrutiny now- she has to take more care with these things. It wouldn't hurt for you to make up a better rumor to compete with this one either.”

Varric was quiet for a second, sizing Fenris up, “Someday we're going to sit down and

have a chat about where this strategic mind has been this whole time. Until then, I'll keep an eye on Hawke for you.”

Fenris refused to admit that looking after Hawke was what he was asking for. Instead he nodded once and left to find a place to view the ceremony. He got out of the crowd as quickly as possible. Although it made a good place to blend in and observe gossip, it wasn't very comfortable for him. Hundreds of people milling about in narrow streets and packed courtyards seemed to make casual touches much more likely. People attempting to move through the crowd were comfortable with jostling and touching their fellow observers. Fenris had once been looking for Donnic in Lowtown when he had paused in front of a shop table. Apparently he was an obstruction to customers, because after a few seconds of peering over the heads of shoppers to look for Donnic, a large man placed his hands on Fenris' ribs and moved him bodily out of the way. Fenris tended to avoid crowds in general after that. He didn't like being touched. He especially didn't like being touched without warning or consent by some burly stranger in a crowd.

Eventually he climbed his way up to a rooftop where he could see the statue and the makeshift platform where the dedication was to be done. He also had significant cover from the weather and observation, and he was blissfully alone. So it was a good spot in many ways. He allowed himself to relax, enjoying the absence of others. It was an intriguingly enjoyable feeling he rarely experienced. Fenris was more than familiar with loneliness. It had plagued him as a slave, even when he spent nearly every moment with Danarius, surrounded at most times by servants and other slaves. Loneliness was an awful feeling, one born out of an inability to connect with others on level ground. Solitude, however, was a new feeling since his escape. It was one he found he cherished. Solitude spoke not only to the absence of others, but the comfort he felt in his own company. He especially enjoyed it as he sat on the rooftop looking out over the crowd. He could hear the roar of others beneath him, see the shifting mass of colorful robes and armor. He was not alone, simply apart, and safe. If he squinted, his eyes could pick out Varric and Merrill near the front of the crowd. Aveline was even easier to find, standing among a squad of guardsman. She seemed to be pointedly avoiding the place she was supposed to be taking up on the wooden platform, avoiding the symbolism of guard captain entirely. She wasn't even in formal armor. Fenris had to respect her attempt to keep her position as captain apolitical, but in his experience there was no such thing. Sebastian was nowhere to be found. It was likely he was still in the Chantry, condemning the revelry of others and scheming on how best to convert his friends. Anders was not attending the ceremony. The abomination had told everyone loudly on several occasions that the ceremony was a pro-templar farce and simply an excuse to crack down even harder on mages. Anders had made it clear that he believed abstaining from the ceremony was the only ethical political statement he could make. Fenris was glad to have a day when he did not have to argue with the abomination. When he looked tword the platform again, Fenris could see Hawke's entering procession winding its way through the throng of observers. Behind the identically armored stream of Templars was Hawke herself. She was beautiful as always, even though she had already managed to scuff her armor.

A voice rang out behind him,“If she can't tell you're staring now, she'll be able to when those pretty elven eyes of yours burn a hole in her armor.”

He didn't need to look back to know who was speaking, “Good afternoon, Isabella.”

“Aw, baby, don't be like that, let me look at that sexy pout of yours.”

One of Fenris' ears twitched with irritation, but he looked back at the pirate and pouted absurdly at her. She barked a laugh, “I knew you had a sense of humor about you.”

Fenris shifted to the side to make room for her on the edge of the rooftop, “Come to hunt me down, have you?”

“Considering your history I expected it to be more difficult. You're astoundingly predictable, you know that? All I had to do was follow the scent of angst to find you up here.”

“Why are you here, Isabella?”

“Touchy, touchy. Can't I just spend time with my favorite elf?”

“If you're trying to flatter me, you should know I'm entirely aware that your favorite elf is really a woman who works at the Blooming Rose.”

“I've been found out,” Isabella raised her hands in a hopeless gesture and flopped dramatically back against the tiled roof. She lay there for a few long seconds for dramatic effect, “She is a looker, though, isn't she? And she cheats outrageously at all the games we play. Woman after my own heart, really.” Fenris chuckled despite himself. He couldn't help but enjoy Isabella's company.

“Speaking of women after our hearts,” Isabella raised a suggestive eyebrow, “How was Hawke last night? Do tell everything.”

“Does everyone know my business?”

“Not _everyone._ Aveline probably doesn't.”

“I suppose that's some comfort.”

“So, c'mon, pretty, give me all the details. I'm curious.”

“What do you possibly have to be curious about? You've slept with Hawke.”

“So you _did_ sleep with her. Was it good? It was good when I did it.”

Fenris moved to get up. He could find another rooftop to sit on. He didn't have any interest in being interrogated about his sex life, “If you wanted me to divulge my sexual history, you would have brought wine.”

“Don't be like that. I'm not here to grill you about sex, I promise.”

“Then why are you here?” He growled.

“Oh, do calm down, the indignation is getting me all worked up.”

Fenris leaned back against the rooftop and morosely observed the crowd. He kicked a foot absently at the gutter. Isabella rolled her eyes, “Don't brood. I'm here as a friend, I promise.”

“Why are you here, Isabella? If it's not your trademark sexual curiosity, then what is it?”

She was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. Below them, the crowd was hushed. The knight commander was saying something unintelligible but loud to the gathered masses. Hawke was up on the platform now. At some point she had lost her helm, and one of her flags had unhooked. She was a mess. Fenris watched as one of Kirkwall's unpredictable gusts of wind tore through the streets, catching Hawkes hair as she smiled stupidly at one of Meredith's backhanded compliments.

“You're in love with her,” Isabella stated, her voice quiet and subdued, “That's a dangerous place to be.”

“That it is. But it doesn't matter now. We're not together.”

“Don't count yourself out just yet. Hawke likes you. Even Merrill has noticed the way she looks at you.”

“Hawke deserves better.”

“Isn't that the truth! Hawke deserves a sexy experienced pirate captain who can really _bring her ship into port,_ if you know what I'm saying. But that's not important. Hawke doesn't seem to care what she deserves. She cares about what she wants, and she wants you.”

“I'm a poor investment of Hawke's time and attention. I'm not stable enough for a relationship with her.”

“I completely agree.”

“You- What?”

“You heard me. You're not ready for what's she's offering. You have to fix a lot of things about yourself before you can do something about your relationship with her. I'm not trying to be mean. I'm trying to tell you that I might know a little more about the situation you're in than you'd expect. I just want you to know that I think you're doing the right thing.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Taking a break with Hawke, it's the right thing. Don't give up on her, of course. That would just be stupid. She's too good in bed to give up on.” Fenris glared at her. Isabella laughed, “I'll stop rubbing your nose in it, I'm sorry. My point is, I know a little something about sex. I also know a little about what it's like to be free for the first time. The adjustment isn't as easy as the stories make it out to be,” She paused for a moment, thinking, “It's difficult and romance might not be what you need right now. When my bastard husband finally got what was coming to him, I jumped straight into bed with his murderer. That was a good choice for me. I don't think it's such a good choice for you. Sex is freeing for me, and I enjoy it. I don't think the same goes for you. It occurred to me -when I was fantasizing about how hot the two of you would be together, maybe oiled up... perhaps some whipped cream... Well, it occurred to me that almost everyone you know is a friend of Hawke's. Not everyone might understand why you've made the choice you've made. I just wanted you to know that I'm in your court. No matter what.”

“Uh... Thank you? I confess I don't know what you mean.”

“Listen to me, pretty. When everyone starts talking about you and Hawke, they're all going to take her side. They're going to try to get her in bed with elves at the Blooming Rose, they'll be sympathetic toward her. They all like you fine, but they'll be there for Hawke. Nobody ever sides with the one who breaks it off. Maybe I'm wrong, but I know quite a bit about relationship drama. What I'm trying to tell you, Fenris, is that I'm on your side. I've got your back. For anything.”

“I- thank you, Isabella. It's much appreciated.”

“Don't mention it, sweet thing. It's all in a days work,” She patted Fenris on the knee, “Now let's watch Hawke make a fool of herself. Do you think she'll have to make a speech?”

Fenris chuckled and felt himself relax. Things seemed less signifiant from this high up. He couldn't hear the parts of Meredith's speech that might make him bristle, and the closest mage was a hundred feet below. Best of all, he was certain he had a friend. Perhaps things were not as dark as he expected.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly a great chapter. I felt like Fenris really needed somebody in his court, and Isabella is an obvious choice. I think she has almost the opposite relationship to sex and freedom than Fenris, but she's also the only person who might understand what he's going through.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a fuckton of timeline weirdness with this, sorry. Basically the headcannon I'm going with is the Fenris and Hawke saw each other intermittently after the first time they got together. They both have misgivings about the whole thing, and Fenris is still having trouble with his anxiety over sex, and the memories which some with it. They take the brake here instead of immediately after the first encounter.  
> This is probably part of a larger work exploring Fenris' backstory (his education in particular) and how that effects him in Kirkwall. Those installments will probably stick more closely to the established timeline.  
> Also I am Fenris trash and couldn't handle the fact that there was no fic dealing with his education.


End file.
